The market building seemed to be the sturdiest structure in the village. The wooden slatted walls stood straight and even, and where a small gap might show, someone had daubed clay or pitch to stop up the hole.

Isa entered the building at the near end, stepping from the sunshine of the day into echoes of the all but deserted building. On her right, the space stretched with tables and shelving every ten feet or so. On the left stood a loose grouping of benches and a U-shaped table pushed to the side. A makeshift counter stretched from one side of the building to the other, anchoring the very end of the marketplace. An older woman stood behind the counter talking with a couple, and a lone man sat on a bench sipping something from a mug.

As Isa approached the trio, she thought she heard the man say something about a construct. The word sparked something in Isa’s mind; she’d heard the word before, but she couldn’t remember the context. Something else to ask Alice about.

The woman behind the counter straightened up and said, “Mefal’s a peaceful place, mostly. You want to trade, we’ll trade. You looking to fight, you take that out to the White Desert. Plenty to fight out there.”

“I’m a cleric,” Isa said. Not lying. “Of the Lady of Lockwood. I’m looking for Mim—”

“Plenty kitted out for a cleric. What with the staff and breastplate, and that blade at your belt.” The woman’s voice sounded bored, but her eyes stayed on Isa’s face.

Isa shrugged. “We’ve seen our share of troubles. My friends and I.”

“If you’re a cleric,” said the other woman, “why do you need Mimay?”

The woman behind the bar narrowed her eyes. “Good question, Sarra. Why do you need Mimay?”

“I want to consult with her. On a matter. A private matter.” Isa peered at the far end of the building. “I was told she might be here.”

The woman’s companion spoke up for the first time. He said, “We’re awfully protective of Mimay. She’s our only healer.” He stood up and turned around. Isa craned her neck up. He was easily a foot taller than Isa.

“I appreciate that. As I said, I’m a healer too.”

“So you say,” he said and settled his hands on his belt.

Perhaps Isa had gained some wisdom along with her ten years. She felt certain the man was simply puffing himself up, maybe to impress the women or to scare off Isa. “Didn’t your friend just say she didn’t want any fighting in here? Now, I am perfectly capable of walking the length of this building in search of the cleric, but where I’m from, you stop to chat with friendly folks. And if a traveler has coin, why, they can get a drink.” She reached into her coin pouch, pulled out one of the old copper coins from the tomb, and laid it on the counter.

“Where are you from?” The woman swept the coin off the table and uncorked a jug.

“An obscure place called Foster-Powell.” Isa raised the mug to her mouth and paused for a half a second, wondering if it was wise to accept this stranger’s drink. But then she gulped it down in one swallow. The liquor burned all the way to her stomach, and her eyes watered.

Isa laughed, shook her head and said, “You’re not Mimay, are you?”

The woman chuckled and shook her head. “Mimay stands about this tall.” She held her hand about chest high. “One of the halfling tribe. Flaming red hair, carries a sickle. You can find her at the other end. Piss poor luck that you came in this way instead of that way.”

“And miss the fine conversation and drink?” Isa smiled and winked.

“Heve.” The woman stuck out her hand. “Heve Nery. This is my place. You’re welcome back any time.”

“Isa Chamberlin. And thank you. My friends and I will be moving along in a day or two, but you may see us before then.”

Isa moved past the couple and into the market area, proper. A few merchants had set up since Isa first entered. She moved slowly up the pathway, partially so that she didn’t miss seeing Mimay and partially because the liquor had started a small fire in Isa’s stomach, and she thought that any moment, she might find herself stumbling along, good and thoroughly drunk.

What a strange turn of events: she’d woken in the desert, having escaped a haunted tomb with well, not her youth, but at least her life. She’d seen two old friends in the course of a short time. Well, at one time they were friends anyway. What is Joth now? Is he still my friend? Was he ever my friend?

Isa stopped short and turned around. She’d only come a short way from Heve’s bar. She could go ask her if she knew Joth Windbane. The blacksmith obviously did. No, Isa shook her head. He’d expressly said that he didn’t know anyone with that name. But he was lying, obviously. Otherwise he would have said, “Is he the guy who just turned invisible?”

Isa wiped her forehead and continued her walk to the far end of the building. When had she last had hard liquor? Probably in Portland. Yes, brunch with Felix, but do Bloody Marys count?

She glanced at the merchant table to her right. A woman had placed earthenware bowls and plates in a stack in the center of the table. The glaze was a pretty light brown color. Isa nodded at the woman and moved on.

She spied an orange tabby curled up on a shelf behind an empty table. Had the serving girl said what kind of cat lived with the healer? This might not be Mimay’s cat. Maybe the place was lousy with cats, though Isa hadn’t seen a cat since she left Portland.

A glance left and right showed no one nearby, so Isa stepped around the table, set her staff against the wall and reached for the cat. “Hey kittie,” Isa said softly. “Do you like to be petted?” She used one finger to stroke the cat’s back. It flinched but didn’t move. Isa petted the cat a few more times until it began to purr.

Isa scratched the cat behind the ears, and it grabbed her hand and began to lick it. “Ok,” Isa laughed, “we’re friends now. Who’s your human – er, your non-feline companion? Of course maybe you don’t have one. Plenty of cats are just fine without one, right?”

Petting the cat made Isa homesick. She didn’t have a cat of her own, but there were several in her neighborhood and a few who would greet Isa as she walked home. She gave them all color-based names. All black cats, she called Midnight. White cats were Ghost, and orange cats all got the special name of Rinso because her grandmother had an orange tabby with that name.

“Your name probably isn’t Rinso, is it?” The cat shifted on its side and yawned. Isa smiled. “No, I didn’t think so.”

She gave the cat another scratch behind the ears and said, “This has been lovely, but I still need to find the cleric.”

“You found her.”

Isa whirled around to see a short, red-haired halfling woman standing with her hands on her hips. Her long hair was pulled away from her face, and she wore a plain breastplate over a sweater and skirt. At her belt the cleric had a sickle and a pouch.

Before Isa could greet her, the woman said, “You don’t look sick. What’s your problem?”